Abriatis

this music isn't to be danced to, either
but still, you do
still, everyone does,
this slow melody, remorseful and sad

letting those flats take you,
the pretty chords
interludes from the brass

cover me in petals, why don't you
gasping breaths as vines
they climb and cement me down
burning hands up my sides

you bless me with every look
but every wheeze of mine,
constricted by this green
are you?

closed eyes
soft smile
hair parted
neatly so

who could ever guess
that that face,
one ever seen
hanging in homes in nineteen-hundred

is that of a girl, drowned
washed up on the seine?
demure, knowing

it's different for everyone.
the joy one gets out of things
out of others.

whether it be
seeing their friends, their pets, anything
it's valid.

if it's writing, getting that draft done

splendor, is it
the way you carry yourself,
your half-smile as you roll your eyes at me
for saying something stupid?

splendor, is it
how you're so kind to me,
putting up with my antics,
as dumb as they are?

a bass line, constant and there
tease of cymbals
horns, brassy and bold
that is who you are.

not the piano, quiet and alone
you are
the trumpet doing its thing at the end,
climbing up the range.